“Ah, I see you have made friends,” a cheerful voice interrupted her thoughts. “How cozy!”
Helen’s gaze jerked up in quick dismay to see Philip smiling down at them. And yet, his eyes were wary, as though he wondered what Helen might have said to his stepdaughter. And just for a moment, she was ill-natured enough to enjoy his discomfort.
“Indeed, Mrs. Milsom has been most—” Anne began.
“Miss,” Philip corrected gently. He smiled. “Miss Milsom.”
Anne cringed at her mistake, casting an apologetic glance at Helen, who smiled encouragingly.
“I did not say, did I?” she soothed.
“Miss Milsom is governess to the Overton children,” Philip informed his stepdaughter, who looked positively panicked now, as though wondering if she had broken some other unwritten rule by speaking to someone else’s governess. “And a very old friend,” he added.
Henrietta rustled over, ending the excruciating few moments. “Miss Marshall,” she greeted the girl with a smile. “Perhaps you would play for us now?”
Anne tensed again as she fought, clearly, to keep the dismay out of her face, for nearly everyone in the room had heard and turned to look at her.
“Of course, she will,” Philip beamed. “If some kind gentleman could perhaps turn the music for her?” He was smiling directly at someone—Sir Marcus, who, lost in his own thought, didn’t appear to notice.
“Oh, Richard is looking forward to performing that service,” Henrietta assured Anne. “He has quite found his niche.”
Anne rose mechanically, leaving Helen with a growing suspicion. However, noticing that Philip was about to take Anne’s vacant place beside her, she rose, murmuring, “Excuse me, I should go to Lady Overton.”
Without waiting for a response, she moved blindly away from him.
Her path took her between Lady Overton, enjoying a comfortable gossip with another matron, and Sir Marcus, quite on his own. On impulse, she swerved toward the latter, who glanced up as she approached and rose to his feet.
“Thank God,” he said without explanation. “What can I do for you?”
“Sir Marcus, are you very wealthy?” she asked.
He blinked. “Hideously. Are you touching me for a loan?”
A breath of laughter escaped her. “No, of course not! I am sorry to be so vulgar, but I seem to have got into the habit of saying to you exactly what is on my mind. Probably because I know you cannot think any more badly of me.”
“I don’t think badly of you at all.”
And there it was again, that surge of awareness as his eyes held hers, no longer so cool or so harsh. It felt almost like recognition, though of what she couldn’t fathom. She just knew the overwhelming physicality of his presence brought butterflies to her stomach. Was this why Anne was afraid of him?
Anne is a child. I am a grown woman who knows better than this.
“Excuse me,” she said hastily, “I am meant to be with Lady Overton.” Even then, she knew she was fleeing. She just wasn’t sure from what.
Lady Overton responded to Helen’s report on the children with a distracted nod. “Then you are quite at liberty for the rest of the evening,” she said graciously.
With relief, Helen headed out of the drawing room, but Sir Marcus stopped her.
“Miss Milsom.” His voice echoed alarmingly, and she spun around to see him walking toward her.
She had never noticed such unconscious grace in a man before, certainly not in one so overwhelmingly male. She forced herself to wait calmly for him, to halt only a foot in front of her.
“Sir Marcus,” she said, perhaps a little too haughtily for a governess. “Can I help you with something?”
His brows lifted. “Yes. You can tell me why you asked if I was rich.”
She flushed. “As I said, I was thinking aloud. I can only apologize.”
“Oh, no, you can’t get around me that way. I want to know what you were thinking. Come for a walk in the garden and tell me.”
“That would not be appropriate,” she said mechanically, conscious chiefly of the sudden desire to do just as he asked.
“Then I’ll walk to the end of the gallery with you,” he said, undeterred.
There was nothing for her to do but turn and walk on, while he fell into step beside her.
“Well?” he prompted.
For a moment, she was almost persuaded, but some old loyalty to Philip held her back from revealing her suspicion. “I don’t want to tell you.”
To her surprise, a breath of laughter escaped him. “You do intrigue me, Miss Milsom.”
“I am gratified.”
“No, you’re not,” he replied. “You wish I’d keep my personal remarks to myself.”
“I can hardly complain when I speak my own unruly thoughts to you,” she said.
“Part of your unruly thoughts,” he corrected. “An annoyingly small part. I would like to know you better.”
She glanced up at him, unwilling to acknowledge the little thrill of pleasure caused by his words, by his presence. He came to a halt, holding her gaze until she all but tore it free.
They had reached the end of the gallery, and she walked quickly across the dark landing to the table at the foot of the stairs where several candles waited. She hadn’t heard him move, but he was before her, striking the flint and lighting one of the candles, which he lifted and offered to her. Its glow flickered across his face, reflected in his intense eyes.
She had seen that look in men before. But it had never sparked such heat through her body.
She took the candle from him and thrilled to the brief, brushing touch of his fingers. This was madness, this temptation to…what? Stay in his company? Take his hand, touch his shadowed cheek, his firm, slightly parted lips?
She swallowed and nervously thrust out her hand, determined to end the strange encounter. “Good night, sir.”
A smile brightened his face. He took her hand, though his gaze seemed to have dropped to her mouth. Butterflies swarmed in her stomach.
“Good night, Miss Milsom.” But he did not immediately release her hand. Instead, he raised it to his lips and dropped a light kiss on her fingers. Only then did he let her go.
She hurried upstairs, her skin still tingling from the caress. I am making too much of this… It was true the custom of gentlemen kissing ladies’ hands no longer prevailed in England, but he had spent most of his life abroad. She should not assume he was flirting. And she most certainly should not wish that he was.
Her mouth was dry as she risked a glance back downstairs. She could just make out his figure walking back the way they had come.
Chapter Four
It was unfortunate, Helen decided, that Sir Marcus showed to such advantage on horseback. In constant sight of his straight figure in the saddle and his light, firm hands on the reins, easily controlling his spirited, often perverse mount, was not the way to rid herself of this strange sensitivity to his presence. Instead, every nerve seemed to come alive, whether he was in her line of vision or not. She did not even speak to him, for she rode with the children and Richard, who had been granted permission to join the expedition to the ruin of Silford Castle.
In the company was also Anne Marshall, Lord and Lady Verne, Sydney and Henrietta Cromarty, the two other debutantes, and Mr. Webster. It was a fine but cold day, and Helen was enjoying the fresh air without too much anxiety, since her charges were excellent riders. Which could not be said of Anne Marshall, whom someone had carelessly matched with a skittish mare far too spirited for her.
Eventually, Helen held the children back to see if the mare would behave better among its fellows. “Would you like to swap with me?” she asked Anne. “I have a very well-mannered mount here, and I think I am more used to riding than you.”
“Almost certainly,” Anne agreed ruefully. “But it would be too embarrassing to swap now.”
“Maybe when we reach the castle or stop for lunch,” Helen suggested, and Anne cast her a gratef
ul look.
However, the girl’s nervousness clearly communicated to the mare, who constantly tossed her head, danced across the road, and chose her own speed. Both Richard and Helen had to reach out at different times and grab the bridle to prevent Anne being taken on an abrupt and involuntary gallop.
“Do you know anything about the castle, Miss Marshall?” Helen asked in a rather desperate attempt to distract her. “Have you visited it before?”
“Oh, no, I’ve never visited anywhere near here before. But I did read a little about the castle before we came.”
Helen hid her surprise, and had to keep doing so while Anne entertained the children with amusing myths about the castle’s origins and stirring tales of its defense and betrayal during the civil war. The children listened, alternately laughing and rapt, and the mare, no longer the center of Anne’s nervous attention, quieted down.
Until Sir Marcus fell back to pass on the news that they were close to the castle. As soon as Anne saw he was waiting for them, her hands tightened convulsively on the reins. The mare snorted, tossing her head in annoyance, and swerved to the right. Sir Marcus broke off, frowning in Anne’s direction, and without further warning, the mare bolted.
Helen and Richard, on either side of her, both lunged to grasp the mare’s head, but she’d grown wise to them and moved too fast, veering off the path altogether, and galloping across country with Anne clinging to her back.
Helen had to allow that Sir Marcus possessed fast reactions. Before anyone else could even think, he’d kicked his horse into a gallop after the bolting one. Of course, he didn’t realize that his effect on Anne was liable to make matters worse. And if Anne managed not to take the nasty fall that seemed inevitable, who knew where she and Sir Marcus would end up, unchaperoned and at the mercy of malicious gossip.
“Richard, stay with the children!” Helen called over her shoulder, already urging her obedient mount after the fleeing pair.
At any moment, she expected to see Anne thrown to the ground and only prayed she would not be too badly hurt. However, Sir Marcus gained on Anne with every stride, and although the mare strove to evade him, he reached out while traveling at full tilt, seized the bridle and slowed, forcing the skittish mare to do the same.
Somehow, Anne was still clinging to the animal’s mane.
Sir Marcus spoke soothingly to the mare, dismounting without releasing her.
“Miss Marshall, are you hurt?” Helen demanded, reining in breathlessly beside them.
Anne emitted a whimper.
“You had better come down from there,” Sir Marcus said, not unkindly, but in his usual abrupt manner. He reached up to lift Anne down, but she, trembling and mortified, blurted, “No, no, I’ll never get back up!”
“You won’t need to,” Helen said, dismounting, too, while Sir Marcus all but plucked the frightened girl from the saddle and set her on the ground. “We shall just swap as we always intended.”
Anne flung herself into Helen’s arms, clutching her convulsively. “I thought it was going to kill me! I’ve never been so frightened in my life!”
“Trouble is, the mare knew it,” Sir Marcus observed, stroking the perverse creature’s nose. “But there, no harm was done.” He bent, examining the mare’s legs for any injury.
Helen, feeling he might have shown more care for Anne, frowned at him. He appeared oblivious.
“What would you like to do?” she asked Anne. “Do you want to go back to Steynings?”
Anne’s eyes widened in fresh alarm. “Oh, no! I would be in such… That is, I cannot go back yet! Perhaps I could just sit here until you come back.”
“You’ll freeze,” Sir Marcus said brutally.
“Besides,” Helen added, glowering at him, “we couldn’t leave you alone.”
Anne’s breath caught, a mute plea in her eyes.
“I can’t,” Helen said. “I’m supposed to be with the children.”
“Besides which, there’s even less point in both of you freezing,” Sir Marcus observed.
“You are quite right,” Anne murmured with a timid glance at him before her desperate eyes slid away.
“The mare is quite calm now,” he said bracingly.
“Yes, but I think Miss Marshall should have my mount,” Helen said. “He’s much gentler and easier to manage for someone who does not ride much.”
“Who on earth picked the mare for you?” Sir Marcus demanded.
“Papa,” Anne replied. “He likes me to try.”
Sir Marcus frowned. “Does he, by God?”
Although Helen shared his indignation, it was clear to her from Anne’s face that the girl thought his anger was against her.
“I did not try hard enough,” she whispered.
“Nonsense,” Helen said. “You simply were not taught enough. Come, we had better rejoin the others.”
“But I cannot mount without a block,” Anne stated.
Without a word, Sir Marcus simply picked her up and set her in the saddle, handing her the reins. He didn’t appear to notice her fiery blush.
Hastily, Helen pushed Anne’s feet into the stirrups. “He’ll be good as gold for you.”
“What about you?” Sir Marcus asked her, handing her the reins of the skittish mare. “Are you up to handling this little beast?”
“I hope so!”
Without fuss, he threaded his hands for her to step into and threw her into the saddle. The mare immediately bridled, but Helen held on to her head and instructed her coolly to trot on. The mare snorted and obeyed with a few side swerves and dances until she worked out it made no difference to the implacable hands holding the reins.
Anne rode warily beside her while Sir Marcus brought up the rear, and they rejoined the rest of the concerned party.
“Oh, the mare took fright at something,” Helen explained without strict regard to truth. No one argued with her. “But Sir Marcus saved the day!”
Sir Marcus emitted a sound like a snort of derision, and Anne hastily fell back with Helen and the children.
“Oh, dear,” Anne murmured. “He must be really angry with me!”
“Who, Sir Marcus? Why should he be?”
“I caused all this trouble, and he had so little patience with me even before I proved such a poor rider.”
“Sir Marcus has little patience with anyone,” Helen said, regarding her curiously. “Forgive me, but why are you so concerned for his opinion?”
Anne blushed again, shifting in the saddle in a way that would have had the mare rearing under her. “It is not I but my parents who wish his good opinion,” she muttered. “They want me to marry well.”
Helen had suspected as much last night and had to bite her tongue. “And Sir Marcus? Has he given any indication of…partiality?”
“Apparently he said something to Mama,” Anne whispered. “But to me, he is very abrupt, and he frowns at me. I cannot think why he might want to marry someone who annoys him so.”
Helen forced herself to look at Anne afresh. Despite her childishness, she was very pretty, with her dark ringlets framing a delicate, fine-boned face beneath just a hint of puppy fat. Some men apparently liked young wives who were more malleable. The thought made her lip curl.
Forcing herself, she said, “I don’t believe you do annoy him. It is just his manner to everyone. He is actually quite kind and witty, which you would be able to appreciate if only you could put the thought of marriage out of your head when you speak to him.”
“Mama won’t let me,” she said simply.
Which left Helen wondering whether she was angrier with Mr. and Mrs. Marshall or with Sir Marcus.
By now, the ruined castle was in sight, and the horses carried them up the hill to admire it in some detail. Once again, Anne surprised her by telling the children about castles in general and pointing out examples from the ruin.
“You are impressed by your new protegee?” Sir Marcus murmured, leaning his hip against a higher part of the stone wall where she sat admiring th
e view while listening with half an ear to Anne and the children.
“She’s not my protégée, but yes, to my shame, I am surprised she has more than two thoughts to rub together.”
“She would be happier in the schoolroom.”
She turned to look at him. “Meaning, you would be happier if she were in the schoolroom?”
His eyebrows flew up. “Actually, the matter is of supreme indifference to me. How do you know the family?”
She regarded him warily. “I don’t really. I had never met Mrs. Marshall or Anne until yesterday.”
“But Philip Marshall is an old friend?”
“We were neighbors for a time.”
“Not a happy time?”
She lifted her chin in a challenging kind of way. “I don’t know why you would think so.”
“Yes, you do. You are clearly not pleased to see him here.”
“Clearly?” she repeated in dismay.
“Perhaps I was watching you too closely.”
His words brought back last night’s strangely intimate encounter, and she rushed into speech. “Well, the matter is easily explained, if I may count on your discretion once more.” She glanced around to make sure they would not be overheard. The children were running and climbing over fallen walls and boulders, the adults sitting or wandering more decorously among the ruins. “Ten years ago, I was engaged to be married to Mr. Marshall.”
“Were you, by God? Why did you dismiss him?”
I decided we did not suit. The lie clung stubbornly to her tongue, refusing to be spoken. “I didn’t,” she admitted stiffly. “He wished to marry someone else instead.”
Sir Marcus frowned. Only pride kept her gaze meeting his, but again he surprised her.
“Paltry, jumped-up squib of a man,” he uttered. “But Anne is not his daughter, is she? Does he have any reason to wish her ill?”
“I can’t imagine anyone would!”
The Weary Heart Page 4
